


The Mess We've Made

by FeatherWriter



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: (She's a bit of both if we're being honest), Aggressively-doesn't-want-to-be-the-Champion!Hawke, Anders Rivalry, Anti-mage Mage, F/F, F/M, Female Hawke - Freeform, Female Mage Hawke - Freeform, Fenris Frienship, Fenris/Isabela/Hawke endgame, Isabela Friendship, Mage Hawke - Freeform, Multi, Purple Hawke, Red Hawke, Rivalmance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatherWriter/pseuds/FeatherWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of conversations between Hawke and a few of her companions, trapped in the cluttered mess that is Kirkwall. For an apostate mage who wants nothing more than to stay out of things, Hawke seems to find herself caught up in issues between the mages and templars far more often than she'd like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Honest Hypocrite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First scene takes place in Act 1 of Dragon Age II, after most of the regular quests, but before the Deep Roads Expedition.

“How can you do it, Hawke?”

Anders didn’t look up from the bandage he was tying around Hawke’s arm as he posed the question. She’d taken a blow bad enough that she'd passed out from blood loss earlier that day, and despite her protests that she was fine, the apostate Grey Warden had insisted she be treated properly. There were some injuries that basic healing magic wouldn’t quite solve.

Hawke suppressed her initial reaction to the question -- much as she longed to give him an annoyed sigh or groan -- and decided there was no getting around this conversation any longer. She knew exactly what he was talking about, but letting _him_ know that would be far too accommodating of her. If he wanted to drag her through this conversation, she was going to make him work for it.

“I can do a lot of things, Anders,” she said. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

She winced as he yanked the bandage tight, probably harder than he needed to. “I think you know I was talking about the mages, Hawke,” he said, still not making eye contact with her. “But I suppose a better question would be how you can sleep at night after what you’ve done?”

“Poorly,” she said casually. “Though I think that’s rather more to do with the quality of bedding in Gamlen’s shithole of a house than any kind of guilty conscience.”

“ _How_ could you work with the Templars? You’re one of us. You _know_ what it’s like to live as an apostate, to fear capture by the Circle and Chantry every day of your life. How can you possibly turn them over?”

Hawke didn’t suppress her sigh this time. “Look, I think you and I have set enough abominations and reanimated corpses on fire these past few weeks to realize the Templars aren’t just locking mages away because they like being jerks. There’s a reason the Circle exists, Anders. Mages get into some nasty stuff, as you and I well know.”

Anders finally looked up at that, eyes flashing. “Don’t spout the Chantry’s lies at me! Not all of those you sent away were blood mages! Most of them were innocent people, just trying to get away and live a life!”

“The Chantry’s lies? You _really_ want to sit there, as a mage, and argue to me that mages aren’t dangerous? Increased risk of possession aside, the fact that either one of us could set this room on fire at will seems dangerous enough. I haven’t studied for long and I already know how to do more than I feel comfortable letting the average idiot on the street having access to.”

Anders shook his head in disbelief. “I can understand how someone like Fenris could be blind to their suffering after what he’s been through, but you? You’ve stayed free of the Circle because you know what it’s really like! How can you sentence fellow mages to that life?” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Unless… that’s it.”

Hawke didn’t like the change in his tone of voice. “What’s _it_?”

“ _Fenris_ ,” Anders said, the name spoken like an accusation. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. What is this, some kind of twisted courtship ritual? You hand over mages into captivity the way another suitor might hand a bouquet of flowers?”

Hawke sneered. “Well, you know, Knight-Captain Cullen is a rather fetching sort too. Maybe I’m tying mages up in bows to try to catch his eye. Did you consider that?”

“This isn’t a joke, Hawke! We’re talking about people’s lives here!”

“Then don’t say things so stupid they make me want to laugh.” She shrugged her arm out of reach, despite the fact that whatever stitches or bandaging he was doing hadn’t been completed yet. “This isn’t about Fenris. Even if I do think he’s attractive, that’s not how I work. Do you honestly take me for the kind of person to lap at his heels and suck up to gain favor like that? I thought Wardens were supposed to be perceptive.”

He made as if to grab the bandages, but she just pulled out of reach again. Shooting her an annoyed glance, he let his hands drop with a sigh.

“No, I’ve never gotten that feeling from you,” he said. “But _that_ would at least make _sense,_ albeit in a disgustingly twisted sort of way. But this?" He looked up, meeting her eyes, and for someone supposedly outraged with her actions, she saw a surprising amount of humility in his expression. "Please, Hawke. I just want to understand. How can you hate them so?"

She glanced away, the sincerity in his request making her uncomfortable. "I don't hate them. I'm just not about to let them wander around and yank dangerous entities out of the Fade. The templars and Circle keep them under control."

"They didn't choose to be mages! It’s not their fault they’re at risk! Beyond that, there are those among them who are safe, who know how to cont--"

"There's enough of them who _aren't!_ ” Hawke snapped.“And you can't say that those who haven't succumbed yet, won't!"

Anders stood, slightly taller than she was while sitting on his high table. "So they are to be locked away like criminals for crimes they didn't even commit?"

"I'm not going to coddle the demon bait just because you feel bad for them, Anders! You're not exactly the best example of saying no to bodymates from the Fade. I seem to remember you feeling the need to warn me how dangerous _you_ are when you lose control and Justice takes over, and you've got one of the nice ones!"

Anders opened his mouth, then closed it again with a pursed-lipped frown. "This isn’t about me, it’s about them. What happens here in Kirkwall? This isn't normal. I'm sure you saw back in Ferelden that mages normally don't fall prey quite so easily as they do here. Abominations are supposed to be rare occurrences, even among apostates."

He turned away, almost pacing across the floor of the small clinic as his tone grew distant. "It's this city, the templars here and the abuses of their Circle. They drive these mages to desperation and then blame them for what they do there! Living in constant fear, it weakens them. It makes them susceptible. When faced with the fate of life trapped in the Circle, is it any wonder they turn to any means necessary to escape? If they weren't being caged like animals they wouldn't lash out to try to get away!"

Hawke dragged a hand down her face with her uninjured arm. She did _not_ want to be having this conversation right now. "Whatever their reasons, you said it yourself: Mages here are more likely to end up bad than other places. That's reason enough for me to turn them over. Besides, I've got more than enough reason to stay off the templars' bad side." She tapped her fingers against the staff sitting on the table beside her.

"You'd sell them out to save your own skin!"

"I'm pretty fond of my own skin, yeah!"

He finally looked back at her, disgust written across his features. “Yet for all your talk of mages being dangerous and susceptible, I don’t see you volunteering for a room down in the Gallows, Hawke."

She gave him a small shrug. "Nor will you anytime soon."

He paused, eyes narrowing. "You're a rare breed of honest hypocrite."

"It's not hypocrisy. I _deserve_ to be free. The mages I turn in don't."

He seemed conflicted at that response, as though he couldn't quite decide if he should be confused, angry, or disappointed. "And by what kind of twisted logic have you decided that?"

"Simple," she said, completely unashamed. "I deserve to be free because I _am_ free."

"Wha--"

She leaned forward slightly, speaking over him before he could finish his question. "Here's the deal. You want to be an apostate? You need to be strong enough to resist the demons and smart enough to stay away from the really stupidly dangerous magics. The ones who I trust to handle themselves outside the Circle are the ones who can _keep_ themselves outside of it. If you're weak or foolish enough to get captured by me or the templars, then obviously you didn't deserve that freedom in the first place."

He kept his eyes on her for a long moment, then went back to tying off her bandage, shaking his head. "That's an awfully convenient philosophy. ‘Everyone captured deserves captivity.’ How nice it must be for you to not have to think morally about your actions or bother with the annoyance of empathy! Only the strong and clever ought to be treated like people, let's cage the rest! Just ignore that they didn't _choose_ to be dangerous, that their only crime is wanting to live like anyone else does!"

Anders was a useful person to have tag along on adventures, which was why Hawke suffered his talk of causes as long as she did. But she’d never had much patience for arguments, and she could only take being attacked for so long before she got defensive.

Unfortunately for him, being a mage had taught her quickly that the best defense was a good offense.

“You want to talk about hypocrisy? About _my_ lack of empathy, Anders?” Her tone had turned savage as she decided enough was enough. “What about _you_? Let’s talk about your callous hypocrisy for a little bit, huh?”

“Excuse me?” There was a small shift from righteous outrage to offended outrage in the Grey Warden, as Hawke changed the topic without warning. It was subtle, but the difference was there.

“Oh, you heard me just fine,” Hawke said, refusing to let up. She fixed him a glare practiced to be threatening. “Sure you care about mages just fine, but anyone else in the city? You couldn’t care less. You were _so_ upset about me handing Feynriel over to the Circle, but would you have cared about him at all if he hadn’t had magic? What if he were just another alienage elf, starving and scraping to get by in a city that hates him? Merrill’s heart breaks every time we walk in there, but the only place that makes you scowl is the Gallows.”

“That’s not tr--”

She didn’t let him finish. “And, if we’re going to say that you don’t care about elves because you aren’t one, how about our fellow Fereldens? The life of a refugee in the streets is living in the dust, resorting to crime out of, hmm what was it? Desperation for how terrible their situation in Kirkwall is. Sound like any other groups you know? Yeah, you’ll patch them up if they walk in here, but Maker forbid you lift a finger for them once they step outside! Not unless they can shoot a bolt from a staff at least!

“It even happens with _me_. I’d be willing to bet Isabela’s drinking money that the only reason you and I are having this little chat is because I’m a mage myself!” She raised an eyebrow, daring him to deny it. “Oh, you’ll bicker with Fenris, but you never really try to change his mind. I can’t imagine you’d sit here lecturing Aveline or Varric or Isabela while stitching them up either. You don’t talk to me like I’m some acquaintance you disagree with, no. You act like some Revered Mother, and I’m one of your flock who’s gone astray. How dare I be a member of the ‘one of us’ and not share your views, right?”

Anders seemed to be struggling to find words to yell back at her. Hawke was being overly hard on him, and she knew it, but she also didn’t care. She didn’t truly believe the bad spin she was putting on things, but she wanted to shut him up and hitting him where it hurt seemed like the fastest way to do that. She let him stutter, open-mouthed at her accusations. It suited her just fine.

“You want to accuse me of not being empathetic enough?” she asked. “Fine, but at least I’m honest about it. This whole city is a _cesspit_ and I don’t see the point in risking my neck to try to clean it up. I just want to survive, and I don’t think it’s my job to feel bad when others can’t do the same. Mages aren’t the only ones who have it hard, Anders. But for reasons I can’t believe aren’t at least a little bit selfish, they’re the only ones you care about.”

His features drew together, creases spreading across his forehead as his expression shifted from disbelieving to wounded to defensive to angry once more. By the time she finished, she had no idea which emotion he’d decide to settle on. To be honest, she hadn’t even been thinking that far. She prepared herself for him to curse at her, or send her away, or Maker forbid, another treatise on why she was a bad person for not helping her fellow mages.

She _wasn’t_ ready for him to grab her, however.

She froze as hands meant for healing clasped her arms, just below the shoulders. Anders seemed to have forgotten the bandage he’d just tied around her wound, and his grip was tight enough to be sore even on her uninjured side. The stitched-up gash sent a flash of pain lancing up her arm as Anders held it, but she forced herself to react with no more than a wince.

Besides, the pain from the wound seemed like a minor concern in the face of the outraged apostate whose grip was causing it. Hawke suddenly questioned her wisdom in pushing him so far. With him pinning her arms as he was, she couldn’t reach her staff, even though it was right beside her. She wasn’t nearly as good at casting loosely, but she started drawing up what power she could to defend herself if things turned bad.

She stared into eyes wide with anger and steeled herself for the flash of light she was sure would overtake them, the cracked lines of energy she remembered shattering its way across his skin when he’d lost control to Justice in the Chantry. It wasn’t a power she relished the idea of facing on her own. What had she been thinking? Hadn’t she just said how dangerous he was when he lost control?

Her fears of the spirit manifesting were unneeded, however. Anders’ eyes remained his own. Not that that made him much less terrifying.

"You think I don't care about them?” he asked, voice rising to dangerous volumes. “You think I could walk past the sufferings that these people face and feel _nothing_? Watch them walk through my doors and just ignore what they're going through? I’m not you, Hawke! I hear every cry for help that rings out, in Darktown, in Lowtown, in all of Kirkwall, and they feel like _daggers_ , every one of them! I feel it all! What I can't understand how you _don't_ feel it!

“But I _can't_ care about them,” His hands trembled, even as he held her tightly. “I... I'm not _strong_ enough to care about them all. There's too much wrong with this world and I'm only one person! I would give anything for the power fix the world, but I don't have it, as much as it pains me to admit it! All the arcane knowledge in the world can’t fix the sufferings of people, and I could sell my soul to the most powerful demon in the Fade and still be unable to save them!"

His grip slackened, though he didn't let go of her completely, and suddenly the Grey Warden looked exhausted. Like a mask being taken off, the proud defiant apostate had become a weary man struggling with a burden much too heavy for him, but that he didn't dare set down. Hawke relaxed just slightly, less worried about needing to defend herself, and more worried that he might be on the verge of a breakdown now.

"It does _pain_ me, Hawke," he said, voice taking on a hollow quality it hadn't had before. "Do you know what it feels like to everything that's wrong with this city -- no, with this _world_ \-- literally burn you from the inside out? Of course not. How could you? But every cry from the streets-- mage or not -- _tears_ at me, begging me to do something to make it right. But I'm not strong enough. I could try all my life and never be strong enough."

He let his hands drop, stepping away from her with a grimace like he'd tasted something bitter. "It's the first thing one learns as a healer: You cannot save everyone. There isn't enough time or energy or skill. Sometimes you must step away and let someone die in order to save the ones you can. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. It doesn’t mean I don’t wish with every fiber of my being that I could do more. It all _hurts_ , Hawke. But I have to choose to try to save the ones I can."

Hawke fell silent, absently rubbing the skin around her bandage where he'd grabbed her. "You don't owe them anything, Anders," she finally said. "This cause of yours is going to kill you."

He gave her a long look before turning away. "If that's what it takes."

"Fine, you can believe what you like. But I'm not going to be dragged into this,” she insisted. He could tie himself to the stake if he wanted, but martyrdom had never appealed to her. “You don't have to work with me if this mage thing is going to be a problem, you know."

He didn't answer, keeping his back to her as he started to fold the bandages he hadn't used.

Hawke sighed. "But... I’ll take that stunning answer to mean that you will. Probably thinking you’ll win me over to this little mages crusade eventually. You won’t. It’s a stupid risk and I’ve always hated sob stories. But you can tag along so long as you’re useful.”

He still wouldn’t look at her. Just kept folding. “You should rest the next few days to let that injury heal. Change the bandage tomorrow, and don’t pull the stitches.”

Hawke gave the apostate’s back and annoyed frown. “Really? That’s it? We shout at each other and then you decide we’re just done? You’re gonna dump your mages rights tirade on me and then clam up and send me off with boring healer instructions like nothing even happened?”

Anders’ posture stiffened, but he didn’t turn around. “Just go, Hawke.”

“Maybe I wasn’t done yet, Anders. You picked this fight and maybe I want to see it f--”

“ _Go_.” His voice seemed strained, but without being able to see his expression, she couldn’t quite tell if the word was a command, a plea, or a threat. Perhaps some mix of all three.

She didn’t like being dismissed, by him or anyone, but she supposed she _had_ been looking for a way to end the conversation when she’d gone on the attack. The chances she would do anything other than make it worse if she stayed now seemed slim anyway. With a huff, she pushed herself off the table to her feet, favoring one side as she did so, and turned for the door out into Darktown.

She paused, her good hand resting against the open door frame. “Thanks for the stitches, at least.”

Without turning around or waiting for a reaction she was certain wouldn’t come, she headed out into Kirkwall once more, hoping this was the last she’d hear of this stupid debate, and fearing that it wouldn’t be.


	2. Over Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still Act 1, still before the Deep Roads.

While throwing very expensive bottles of wine against the wall was no doubt cathartic for Fenris, Hawke considered it among her accomplishments that she’d convinced him that _drinking_ said wine could also be cathartic. Say what you will about Tevinter slave masters, but they had good taste in alcohol. Besides, wasn’t it enough of a snub in Danarius’ direction to have the escaped slave he sought so dearly sipping on his best bottles with an apostate mage?

Hawke certainly thought so, and she was glad she’d brought Fenris around to the idea as well.

She gave a relaxed sigh as she swirled her glass, lounging on one of the slashed couches in Fenris’ mansion. “It ought to be illegal for bad people to own good wine. It’s just not fair.”

Fenris gave a small nod of acknowledgment, taking a sip from his own glass. “Hawke, can I ask you a question?”

Hawke felt just a little bit of her good mood start to slip away. “I’m just going to say no, on principle. Any question that requires permission to ask sounds like it’s not going to be fun to answer.”

Fenris frowned, but gave a small nod. “If you prefer.”

Unfortunately, that was immediately followed by an uncomfortable stretch of awkward silence. Hawke wasn’t sure if it was an intentional ploy to get her to relent, or if the elf simply had a greater tolerance for awkward than she did.

She gave up fairly quickly, rolling her eyes with a heavy sigh. “Fine, what is it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m simply curious about the interactions we’ve had with mages so far, Hawke.”

The sigh quickly devolved into a full groan. “Oh Maker, not this again. I take it back, you’re not allowed to ask anything.”

“What do you mean by ‘again’?”

“If I tell you that Anders asked me the same thing,” she snapped, “will you shut up about it?”

He didn’t seem off-put by her annoyed tone. She still wasn’t sure whether his ability to stay calm in most situations was aggravating or endearing. “Anders and I,” he said, “may not see eye to eye on many issues, but I am not in the habit of disagreeing with him on principle alone.”

Hawke scoffed. “Yes you are. You’d throw yourself down a flight of stairs if he decided to walk down them normally.”

“I would not.”

“Would too.” She picked up a small ball of couch fluff and tossed it at him.

“I’m not going to have this argument with you, Hawke.”

She grinned, taking a victorious drink of her wine. “I think that means I win.”

He gave her a flat look. “I am not surprised that Anders asked you about this. Your views on this topic seem… unconventional, considering your situation.”

“My situation?” She wasn’t about to let him dodge away from this easily. If he wanted to make her talk through this, she was going to make it as uncomfortable for him too.

He glanced at her staff, resting beside the doorway.

“You can say the word ‘mage,’ Fenris,” she said. “Or, Maker forbid, you could go all the way to ‘apostate’ if you wanted. I don’t think there’s any templars lurking outside your door to cart me away. Unless you invited them here, of course. Have you? Should I expect a squad to come bursting in to carry me away?”

Fenris didn’t seem amused. “Hawke.”

“No, I’m serious,” she said. “You seemed pleased enough when I turned those runaway mages over. Why not add another to the templars’ collection? You hate mages. Why not turn me in? I assume it’s not my sparkling personality that’s won you over.”

Fenris leaned back in his own chair, though it looked damaged enough that she worried doing so might cause it to break. “If I answer you honestly about my motivations, will you answer me honestly about yours? An even trade.”

 _Damn it._ She’d been hoping to distract him enough to get the topic away from herself, but it seemed he was determined to figure her out. _Good luck, boy. Because like hell do I have myself figured out._

She raised her glass towards him, reaching out across the empty space. “Alright, it’s a deal, but you go first.”

He clinked his glass against hers to seal the deal, then took another sip. “I told you the night we met, I was grateful for your help. I still am. You’ve shown yourself to be quick to help take down slavers, and refreshingly enough, you seem to have a grasp of how dangerous apostates can be.”

Hawke shrugged. “Not really. What do I care if this city gets blown up by renegade mages or overrun with abominations? So long as they stay away from me. I just turn them in because the templars pay well and it’s smart to stay on their good side.”

Fenris shook his head. “You don’t truly believe that, though. You feign disinterest when the topic comes up, but I do not believe that you care as little as you claim.”

She scoffed, but there was a truth to his statement that bothered her. The way he seemed to be able to see through fronts that she put up in her attempts to brush him off was unnerving. “Not all of us have hidden depths, Fenris. Maybe I am just a selfish apostate who doesn’t care about anyone but herself.”

“You helped me,” he said, voice dropping to a quieter tone. “You didn’t hesitate when killing those slavers, either. Those aren’t unselfish acts, Hawke. You’ve aided me in staying free of those who would capture me. It would be ungrateful of me to turn you over to those who would capture you.”

“Ah,” she said, raising a finger. “So you admit that the Circle of Mages is like slavery?”

“Most slaves do not pose the danger that mages do,” he said. “Slaves are stolen from their lives to satisfy the only selfishness of another, mages are watched as a method of protection. Anders may argue that the Circle is inhumane, but the fact of the matter is that its intentions are to keep people safe, both the mages who cannot control their own power and everyday people who need not fear the mages in their midst.

“Anders claims against the treatment of mages may be somewhat valid--” Hawke’s eyebrows shot up as he admitted that, but Fenris ignored her, continuing on, “--but the hard truth is that this is better than what would happen if mages were allowed govern themselves. If a few must be restricted for the good of all, then that is what must happen. Anders’ idea of the way things should be will only end in oppression and enslavement for all. I am the living proof of what abuses will happen if his dream is ever achieved.”

He stared down at his arms, eyes tracing across the lyrium patterns. Slowly, Hawke reached across the space between them and placed her hand on his wrist. “Hey, your master was stupid enough to give you power. Use it to destroy him.”

His fist clenched, and she could feel his whole arm tense. “I plan to.” He fell silent for a moment, then glanced down at her hand. "That covers my part of this deal, Hawke. Now it is your turn."

She sighed, pulling her hand back and taking a drink of wine rather larger than a sip. "I was hoping you'd forget about my part."

A small smile touched his normally serious face. "I had a feeling."

"What does it really matter to you why I do it, Fenris? Isn't it enough that I'm doing things your way and turning the mages over? Are my reasons really so important?"

"I'm not going to let you get out of this, Hawke. I answered your question."

She shifted her position in the couch to get a better look at him. "Fine. I told Anders it had to do with capability. Apostates who get captured obviously didn't have what it takes to make it outside the Circle. People like that are better off in the Templars’ care, right?”

He raised a single eyebrow. “I didn’t ask you what you told Anders. I asked you for an honest answer.”

She leaned back, running a hand through her hair as she started up at the cracked tiles on the ceiling. "I don't see why it's supposed to be my job to help these mages. Just because I have magic too, everyone expects me to risk my neck to help them get free. No one helped me out. No one helped Bethany. If they want to live as apostates, they can't expect anyone to give them aid."

Fenris frowned at that. "You chose to help me."

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because..." She waved her hand about, frustrated that she couldn't find a good answer. "Slavers are easy. There's no question about whether it not slavers should die. They're bottom-feeding scum who don't even deserve to bleed on my boots. Killing them actually makes me feel good about myself, and as far as I care, the more brutal, the better."

He raised his glass as if in a toast. "I'll drink to that."

She raised hers just slightly as well in acknowledgment. "Beyond that, I'm not going to get in trouble for killing slavers. Maker's breath, the guards might even give me a reward for it. There’s not a single downside, and if I happen to pick up an attractive elf warrior along the way, that’s just bonus.”

Fenris sputtered in an amusingly ungraceful way, coughing on the wine he’d just swallowed and Hawke had to keep herself from cracking a smile as she continued.

“The mages and templars on the other hand?” She shook her head. “That whole issue is a blighted mess. You know better than anyone what a good example the Imperium is of mage freedom gone wrong, and that’s obviously not the way things should be. But you know what?”

She paused quickly before continuing, pointing a warning finger at him as her voice dropped low. “If you ever tell him I said this, I swear on Andraste’s ashes I will string you up in front of the Gallows myself, but... Anders is right too. The Circle sucks. It’s a terrible system too. It’s why I’d risk living as an apostate, and why I worked so hard to keep Bethany out of it too. It’s why my father ran away and escaped. I don’t want to live my life as a prisoner, unable to do what I want and afraid I’ll be made Tranquil if I step out of line.”

Her voice grew softer, and she couldn’t suppress a shudder. “I… I’m terrified of it, Fenris. You weren’t with us when we tried to help Anders’ friend. He was _soulless,_ and for that one moment that he was himself again, he begged us to kill him. In a way, I’m _glad_ for the nightmares I have about being made Tranquil, because so long as I’m waking up screaming, so long as I can still _dream at all_ , they haven’t gotten me yet.

“It’s the templars themselves too. Even being around them makes me nervous, but I’m not about to show it. I’ve heard of the things they can do to mages with those weird powers of theirs. My father felt it a few times and the way he described it... They can drain you of power, until you’re so weak and empty you can’t cast a single spell. I _never_ want to feel that powerless. I won’t let them do that to me. I’d die first.”

Fenris looked concerned. “Hawke…”

She wasn’t sure if it was the wine loosening her lips, or if it was something to do with her conversation partner, but now that she’d started explaining herself, she didn’t feel like stopping. “Even Aveline. I… she’s my friend and she’s a good companion, but when we found her and her husband on the road back in Ferelden, I thought that was it for me. I was _glad_ that Wesley got the taint, because after he saw us, only one of us was walking away alive. I’m sorry for Aveline’s loss, I really am. But I’m not going to pretend there wasn’t a part of me that was satisfied to be the one to hold the knife when he needed to die.

“If I give the templars here a reason to come after me, I doubt it’ll take them long to figure out I’m an apostate. So I don’t. Maybe that should make me more sympathetic to the mages we hunt down, but it doesn’t. Not really. Better them than me. I get paid and don’t screw the Circle over. All I can think when I see them take mages away is that that’s one more Chantry collar that isn’t snapping closed around my neck.”

The wine splashed out of her cup as she gestured, liquid running red over her fingers but she barely noticed. “I’m not a danger to society! Lowlifes on the streets at night excluded, Kirkwall doesn’t have anything to fear from me. I’ll leave blood magic to Merrill and stay well enough away from that. I’m not looking for a bosom friend in the Fade like Anders either. I don’t need instruction to keep my magic in control!

"You know what I think?" Her eyes narrowed. "I don't think they're afraid of us so much as they like controlling us. What was it you said about your old master? He liked keeping a powerful pet on his leash? I don't think the Chantry is any different. And if we get away or don't cooperate, they say we're dangerous. They won't let powers like ours, yours or mine, walk free and they'd rather tear us apart than be leave us be. Danarius would rip the lyrium from your skin the way the templars would rip my soul from me."

Fenris' eyes grew hard. "They could try."

"You wanted to know what my stance on the mages and templars was. There you have it. I don't have one. I'm not picking sides in this dumb fight because both of the sides are terrible. You're right and Anders is right and you're both wrong and I _don't_ _care_. I'm going to do what I think is going to get me paid and keep me out of the Circle. I’m not siding with or against the mages or templars or whatever. I'm on _my_ side, and that's it."

He gave a small nod. "I wasn't trying to convince you toward one side or another, Hawke. I was merely curious about your motivations."

She sneered, standing up with a small sway. "Oh don't act like you're above it all. If I wasn't doing what you wanted, you'd be just as bad as Anders is, I'm sure. This issue is not my problem. It's not my job to fix this damn city. I'm just trying to live in it."

She drained the rest of her wine in two swallows, then, feeling impulsive, she threw the empty glass against the wall. Fenris was right, there was something cathartic about the sound and sight of shattering glass.

The sudden destructiveness raised a concern, however. She turned back toward Fenris, fearing she could guess the answer to her question before she posed it. "How much of that bottle did we drink?"

He tapped a nail against the glass, which gave off a tellingly hollow sound. Hawke suddenly wished she had another glass to throw in frustration. No wonder she'd suddenly felt talkative tonight. How stupid did she have to be to get drunk and spill her thoughts to him like that?

She glared at him, deciding this was his fault. "This didn't happen. You didn't hear any of that because I didn't say it. Understood?"

He shrugged, but his eyes were much too keen to for her to hope the wine would haze his memories of this night. "If you like, Hawke."

As she turned away to leave, she could almost swear she heard him say softly, "Whatever you like."


	3. A Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene takes place about mid-way through Act 2. At this point, Hawke has flirted with Fenris fairly extensively, has slept with Isabela once just for fun, and most recently, had a rather disasterous one night stand with Anders.

“I slept with Anders,” Hawke said, staring at the bottom of her mug of cheap ale.

The statement was out of the blue, nothing to prompt it, but Hawke had learned that there wasn’t really ever a good moment to bring up topics like this. Better to just get it out into the open all at once. Perhaps the awkwardness of the subject was a sign that she shouldn’t have talked about it at all, but she’d found she was having trouble processing this one on her own.

She could almost _feel_ waves of interested surprise coming from Isabela beside her. “I think you need to run that one by me again, sweetheart. I must have misheard, because it _sounded_ like you said you slept with mage boy.”

Hawke took a drink. The swill tasted like dirt, just as it had the last twenty times she’d picked the cup up, but she kept drinking it for some reason. Perhaps she was hoping it would stop tasting terrible if it got her drunk enough.

“It… just kind of happened.” That was a lie, Hawke knew. Yes, Anders’ had been sudden, but she’d had hours between his offer and actually letting him into the estate. It wasn’t like she’d gotten caught up in the moment without having time to think.

Isabela leaned back. “Damn, you just lost me five silver. Varric’s going to be insufferable when I pay up.”

Hawke frowned. “You and Varric had a bet going on who I was going to sleep with?”

“Girl’s got to make coin where she can,” Isabela said, unashamed. “Or, lose it in this case, I guess. Anders, really? I could have sworn you had your eyes on the elf instead.”

“I did,” Hawke said. “I do, I guess. I mean, I like Fenris fine, but now I’m worried I might have messed this up.”

Isabela laughed. “Going after both at the same time? Now that’s just asking for trouble. Then again, if anyone were going to pull it off, it’d be you. You might actually be able be able to handle both of them at the _same time_ if you catch my meaning. That’d be a threesome for the ages. Foursome if you count Justice, I guess.”

“I’m not too proud to admit I haven’t thought about it,” Hawke said. “But Anders was… a mistake. That’s the only way to describe it. A terrible idea from start to finish.”

Isabela gave her a sympathetic wince. “That bad, huh? What happened? I thought the two of you hated each other. The only person he bickers with more is Fenris.”

“I mean it wasn’t _that_. That part was fine.” She shook her head, not wanting to get into the details. “It was afterward.”

“This sounds like there’s a story attached to it.” The pirate waved for the bartender in the Hanged Man, ordering the two of them another round.

Hawke wasn’t sure if the new drink was a good thing or bad thing. “It started that afternoon, I suppose. I walked in on him writing on that manifesto of his, and we started fighting, like usual. ‘Why don’t you want to help your fellow mages, Hawke?’ ‘Be a better person, Hawke.’ ‘I’ll show you I’m right, even if I have to fill every blank page of paper in Thedas with my boring arguments, Hawke.’”

“Don’t tell me he tried to get you to read it?”

“No, he didn’t, but just being on that topic means that in no time we’re shouting at one another and out of the blue he starts talking about how he can’t stop thinking about me, and how he can’t decide whether or not he wants to kill me or kiss me, half the time. Things got heated… in more ways than one, and then we’re kissing in the middle of an argument, and then we’re back at the Hawke estate and it just kind of… happened.”

“But something happened afterward?” Isabela prompted.

“He got… weird,” Hawke said, feeling awkward all over again. “I kind of got the sense that something was up beforehand, but as soon as it was over, he went all soft on me. Started talking about how he’s never loved anyone before and that it’s a Circle rule he’s breaking with me, and then he… said it.”

“It?”

Hawke gave her an insistent look. “ _It._ Three words. _Those_ three words.”

Isabela’s eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“Yeah. _Yeah._ ” Hawke set her mug down with an emphatic _thud_. “Honestly, what in the Maker’s name was he thinking? The two of us, together? It’s a terrible idea! We’d kill half of Kirkwall if we didn’t end up killing each other first! How could he possibly think we’d ever be good together? This was supposed to physical thing. ‘I hate you, you hate me, but you seem like you’d be fun to mess with in bed, so let’s do it.’ Nothing more than that! He’s an idiot for thinking otherwise!”

“So,” Isabela said slowly, “what did you do? After he… confessed?”

Hawke suppressed a grimace. She wasn’t exactly proud of the way she’d handled the situation, but she was long practiced in playing off her mistakes as intentional choices. “I… said I thought it would be better if he left. Obviously he wanted something that was never going to happen, and I thought it was a good idea for him to go.”

Isabela blinked. “Hold a moment. The man told you that he loved you, right after sex, and you literally kicked him out to the streets?”

“When you say it like that…”

“Darling, I don’t think there’s a way you _can_ say it that doesn’t make you come across as a heartless bitch.” Isabela’s tone was as friendly and casual as ever, despite her choice of words. “And they say _I’m_ bad with relationships. Perhaps I ought to spend more time with you, Hawke. You’ll make me look good.”

Hawke shot Isabela an angry look. “Wait. Are you taking _his_ side?”

“I’m not taking sides at all. I’m just saying it’s not really an ideal situation. And you’ve got to admit that you didn’t handle this well at all, sweetheart.”

“It was his fault!” Hawke insisted. “He got these ideas in his head that he shouldn’t have because they’re _terrible ideas_. He tried to change the game on me, he tried to make this something it wasn’t, something it shouldn’t be, obviously! It isn’t my fault he misunderstood what our relationship was supposed to be!”

“Look, Hawke,” Isabela said, “you can talk all you want about how caught off guard you were, but I’m not buying it. You and I both know what kind of a person Anders is. When he does something, he commits, puts everything he has into it. It’s why he cares about those patients of his in Darktown, even though they probably literally pay him with scraps of garbage. It’s why he spends all his time writing that manifesto for the mages. It’s why he keeps following you around, even though you drive him mad. He’s all in on everything he does, and while we might both think he’s crazy for it, the truth is we at least know that he does it.

“Men are weak. They’re not like you and me, Hawke. I’m just fine going for a kiss and a tumble one night and not needing it to mean anything. Sounds like my kind of fun, actually, especially with someone like you. But the guys? Oh they talk a tough game, but on the inside, they’re all softies, to a man. You try to play fast and loose with them and someone’s going to get hurt.”

Hawke frowned, sipping at her bad ale as she listened. “What are you saying? That I should have seen this coming or something?”

“I’m saying I know you’re not stupid enough _not_ to have seen this coming.”

The mage pursed her lips, but she wasn’t quite willing to lie point blank and say that Isabela was wrong. She’d known how Anders felt, especially after his admission in the clinic. Perhaps she’d thought if she just ignored if for long enough, his feelings would go away.

“So what now?” Hawke asked. “You think I was wrong?”

Isabela shrugged. “I’m a pirate. We don’t deal much in ‘right and wrong.’ I think you might owe him an apology, though.”

Leaning back on the barstool, Hawke sighed. “You’re probably right, much as I hate to admit it. Do you know how much I hate apologizing?”

“I can guess,” Isabela said with a smile. She stood up, stretching. “And I’ve caught Fenris looking at you the same way, sweetheart, and don’t try to deny that you like him for more than that pretty-patterned body of his. If you want my advice? Don’t make the same mistake twice, Hawke.

Isabela grinned as she started to walk off, throwing a wink over her shoulder. “Even if it means you and I probably ought to stop having our fun. I will miss it, but it’s for the best. Someone’s got to keep you in line!”


	4. Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene takes place in Act 2, directly after Fenris' first romance scene. Context for non-Fenrismancers: Fenris always leaves after sleeping with Hawke, saying he started to remember his life before while they were together and that it's too painful for him to continue.

“All I wanted was to be happy…” Fenris said, voice strained. “Just for a little while. Forgive me.”

Hawke could do nothing but stare as he turned away from her, and slowly but sadly walked out her bedroom door. She felt as though she couldn't quite comprehend what was happening. Everything has been going well, they'd finally kissed, the sex had been good, and now he was apologizing to her and walking away.

When she finally managed to break her silence, only one word came to her. "No."

She stood, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and grabbing her robe from where Fenris had thrown it. She tugged her arms through the sleeves, already walking toward the balcony over the foyer.

"No. No, he can't." But he could. He was already gone by the time she reached the banister, and she slammed her hands against the rail’s thick wood in frustration.

A worried Leandra poked her head out of her room. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine!” Hawke snarled.

Leandra blinked at the words and the tone that absolutely refuted them, but knew her daughter well enough not to get involved when Hawke was like this. She gave Hawke a worried frown, but nodded and pulled her door shut behind her once more.

Alone once more, Hawke glared at the front door again, as though intensity of gaze alone would summon Fenris back to her. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that,” she said quietly. “I did everything _right_ this time. It was supposed to _work_.”

She wasn’t sure if she was mad at Fenris for leaving, though she would admit that his reasons for doing so were understandable. She might be mad at herself, for screwing up yet another relationship, but this time unintentionally. Maybe neither of them were at fault, and it just wasn’t a situation that was meant to work out. That last possibility was the most frustrating, because the only thing she hated worse than being angry, was being angry without a good target.

Not really thinking about what she was doing, Hawke walked to the staircase up to the roof, a passage she’d had little reason to use in her time since moving into the mansion. The men who’d had possession of the building before them had left a lot of junk and ruined furniture behind when Hawke had flushed them out. Quite a bit of it had been moved up here, perhaps with the intention of selling later, but the truth was, it was little more than oversized debris that no one wanted to deal with so long as it was out of the way.

Hawke shoved the door open, pushing a few broken boards out of the way as she stepped out onto the stone patio and into the chill Kirkwall night. She’d felt she needed air, she supposed, though why she’d moved upward instead of heading toward the street for a walk, she couldn’t say. The small roof space was cluttered, but there was some room to walk. She kicked at a dismembered chair leg in her way, and unintentionally channeled telekinetic force behind the motion, making a wide swath of junk scatter and tremble.

She didn’t have control of her temper, and she knew that was a dangerous state for her, but that cool rush of magic felt good. The destruction had a certain catharsis to it. Tossing splinters wasn’t quite satisfying enough, however. Not fully conscious of what she was doing, she called flames forth, letting the fire lick its way up her arms as she clenched her fists. With a wordless yell, Hawke sent a blast of fire toward a particularly tall pile of trash, feeling some of her aggression bleed into the loud _fwoosh_ of fabric and wood coming alight.

“I did everything correctly this time!” She didn’t know who she was yelling at. The Maker, perhaps? She didn’t even know if she believed in the Maker, but if he _did_ exist, she supposed she had reason enough to be pissed at him.

“I was ready to commit to something! I was going to do this correctly! It wasn’t going to be like Anders, okay?”

A decrepit table was the next to suffer the immolation for her anger. Her staff was still downstairs, but she didn’t need it. Staves helped her control her spells, they let her focus her magic into something precise. Control, focus, and precision weren’t ideas she was interested in right now. Mindless destruction was a much more appealing idea.

Bethany had always preferred ice and frost, but Hawke was always better with fire. Fire was powerful, it was full of life and motion and heat. Sometimes she felt as though she was constantly surrounded by things going wrong, like fire destroying everything around her. It felt good to be the one doing the destroying this time.

“Is this punishment for Anders, then? Like I deserved this for what I’d done? I pushed Anders away so I have to lose Fenris as a result?” The breath of her shouting puffed visibly in the cold air, like smoke from a fire burning deep within her. “I messed that up, I know, but I was trying to do better! I didn’t _want_ to break his heart! It’s his fault for trusting me with something like that, not mine!”

An explosion burst behind her, and she realized she wasn’t simply throwing fire from her hands anymore, but calling it into being around her as well. She should stop, before she really lost control and did something she regretted, but she was lost in the heat of the moment. Thoughts of neighboring nobles calling for the templars to come take care of the rogue apostate stayed at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d almost like to see a squad of templars try to take her away right now. Let them come. She’d give them a fight worth remembering.

“Why is it always my fault? Why is it always my responsibility to fix things? I’m supposed to help the mages, help the guard, help Merril with her mirror, figure out how to get the Qunari to stop doing whatever they're doing, make things better than the other Fereldens. ‘Fix it, Hawke! Hawke, I need your help!’ Why me? I don’t care about this stupid, awful city and its problems, but for some reason it’s become my job to solve all of them!"

The pyre around her surged suddenly, stretching into the air with a brightness that made her squint. She was immune to its heat, feeling only a comfortable warmth despite being in the midst of an inferno. She stood for a moment, breathing heavily while surrounded by the blaze, realizing, as she’d known all along, that shouting at the sky and burning things didn’t actually solve anything. Whatever temporary satisfaction she’d gained from her actions was overshadowed now by an angry embarrassment for her childish, destructive tantrum.

The roof patio was made of stone, but there was still a danger of her setting the rest of the house on fire if she wasn’t careful. That would be a fine way to top off this whole mess. With a disgusted bitterness, she threw frost over the roof, pressing the flames down until they were extinguished. The smoldering wreckage still smoked when she was done with it, but at least there weren’t any embers in danger of catching alight again.

Feeling perhaps more conflicted than she had before, Hawke headed back inside the house, slamming the door behind her as she went.

 


	5. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act 2 still. Hawke has a new subclass. Probably didn't need to say that, but I've gotten used to putting these at the top now, since these scenes jump around.

"Hawke," Anders said flatly. "What are you doing?"

Hawke had wondered how long it would take him to notice. She stayed seated on the Hightown cobblestones - where she'd been tossed by a particularly annoying blood mage - and poured healing magic into her shoulder. She wanted to stitch herself up before trying to stand up. She didn't  _think_  she'd hit her head, but those kinds of injuries could be hard to notice. It'd be embarrassing to try to find her feet only to stumble sideways.

"You know," she said, still concentrating on the new healing technique, "for someone who calls himself a Spirit Healer, I'd thought it would be obvious."

Anders' eyes narrowed. "Fine then.  _Why_  are you doing what you're doing?"

"My shoulder's injured," she said flatly. "If I cast this fun new spell, it gets less injured. Do you need me to explain how a healing spell works?"

Anders glared at her, crossing the street to kneel down beside her. "You're doing this wrong, let me help you."

"I'm fine," she snapped. "Leave me be."

He ignored her, leaning forward to show her what to do, so she pulled out of his reach with a petulant jerk. He tried again, so this time she kicked at him.

"Maker  _take_ you, Hawke," he swore as her boot smacked his ankle, forcing him back. "Fine. Do it wrong if you want. See if I care. When did you become a Spirit Healer, anyway?"

"I'm sorry," she said, voice layered with sarcasm. "Was I supposed to inform you of every change minor change in my life? Are you the Spirit Healer commander for Kirkwall, and no one's allowed to start learning the craft without your express permission?"

"I'm just curious as to why  _you,_ of all people, would be interested in something like healing magic. Aren't you worried you might accidentally help someone?"

She rolled her eyes. "I help a lot of people, Anders. If you're worried that you have misjudged me and are feeling the onset of a guilty conscience for how rude you've been to me these past few years, rest assured. I plan on using this healing magic in entirely selfish ways. I'd hate to give your little Darktown clinic competition."

Isabela and Fenris stood a short ways off, too far away for Hawke to overhear anything from them. They appeared to be chatting quietly as they cleaned weapons and armor from the fight, and if she had to guess, probably on the subject of this little debate that had broken out between her and Anders. Isabela kept making exaggerated faces as she talked through a caricature, shooting conspiratorial glances at Hawke and Anders' back. Fenris was trying not to crack a smile, but Hawke could see he wasn't quite able to keep it from his eyes.

"Wouldn't want to give me competition," Anders said bitterly. "Truly, Hawke, your philanthropy knows no bounds. Why even bother learning a magic designed to help people if you're only planning on keeping it all for yourself?"

She pushed herself to her feet with a groan, using her staff for support. "Well, I got bored one day, though I might try something new for a change. It was this or blood magic, I suppose."

"That isn't funny."

"No, I'm serious," she insisted, though she knew her grin said otherwise. "I found a book on Spirit Healers and a book on blood magic. This seemed the one least likely to turn me into an abomination." She gave him a meaningful look up-and-down. "But that's not 100% effective, I suppose."

Anders made a noise of disgust, turning away. "Just when I think you've run out of ways to appall me, Hawke."

She laughed, but her eyes flicked upward, catching a flash of movement on the dark rooftops of Hightown. "Anders, if you're going to make it that easy by thinking idiotic things like that, it isn't going to be a fun challenge anymore."

"Honestly," he said, "I'm surprised you wouldn't just specialize in finding new ways to set things on fire. Destructiveness seems to be your natural tendency anyway."

Hawke whipped her staff about, throwing a bolt of fire just over Anders' shoulder, probably close enough to singe his feathers. It hit a bandit trying to sneak up on them squarely in the chest, exploding with enough force to toss back the other attackers dropping from the roof to join him. She'd had a feeling this fight wasn't quite over yet. There always seemed to be a few stragglers hanging about after an ambush in Kirkwall, she'd learned.

"Lucky for you," she yelled, already readying another spell to throw. "I'm already an expert in setting things on fire!"


	6. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometime late Act 2 or early Act 3. The bigger context isn't too important for this scene. Isabela has been flirting with Fenris in party banter, despite Hawke and Fenris having a thing. Scene comes about because of a fun little game glitch this Hawke had, in which Isabela and Fenris both got the romance armor, without the game being modded or anything.

Hawke slammed a hand down on Isabela’s table in the Hanged Man, causing the woman to jump in surprise. “What exactly,” Hawke said, “do you think you’ve been doing these past few months?”

Isabela recovered her composure remarkably quickly, turning to her friend with a raised eyebrow. Despite Hawke’s obviously angry tone, Isabela was all smiles. “Hello to you too, Hawke. No, I’m not busy! Come, sit down and have a drink with me for a bit. Let’s chat.”

Hawke leaned forward, getting up in Isabela’s face. “Not in the mood. I think I’ve been _extremely_ patient with this so far, but I can’t put up with much more.”

“That’s nice, sweetheart,” Isabela said. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about, so you might want to be more specific.”

“The flirting.”

Isabela smiled. “I flirt with a lot of people. Who are you referring to, exactly?"

Hawke sat down in the other chair at the table, but stayed bent forward, both hands on the table. For a mage, she knew she could cut an imposing figure when she needed to. A girl didn't get far in a city like Kirkwall without learning to pose a threat through posture alone.

"You know damn well who, Iz!" Hawke was nearly shouting, but loud arguments were nothing new to the Hanged Man. None of the other patrons so much as batted an eye. “Asking him if Danarius ever oiled him up to ‘glisten’? Trying to guess the color of his underwear?”

Isabela leaned back, crossing her arms in a relaxed posture. “Ah, Fenris.”

“I’m sorry, did you not realize I usually standing no more than three feet away while you’re draping yourself all over him?”

“I like him,” Isabela said. “That’s what I do with people I like. Don’t tell me that comes as a surprise.”

“Well, don’t.” Hawke pointed a stern finger. “For the sake of our working relationship, he’s off limits.”

“Last I checked, I didn’t see your name on--” Isabela trailed off, tipping her head. “Actually, he _did_ start wearing that emblem with your family crest on it, didn’t he? I guess you do have your name on him. Damn.” She shrugged, unaffected. “Still, I thought things didn’t work out between you and him. I certainly didn’t think you two were in anything exclusive.”

“It’s…” Hawke’s anger faltered as she struggled to find a word to sum up what exactly she and Fenris were right now. The one she settled on was unsatisfying. “...complicated. It wasn’t a problem with _us_. More of a problem with _him_. He’s got personal stuff in the way, so he probably shouldn’t be sleeping with anyone.” Her jealous scolding tone snapped back into place. “But if he _was_ going to sleep with anyone, it’d be me.”

Isabela took a long drink, then set her cup back on the table with a tap. “Look, Hawke. Far be it from me to try to steal your catch out from under you.” She paused for a second. “He was _under_ you, wasn’t he? Please tell me you didn’t let him top.”

“Isabela.”

“Right, right.” She waved a dismissive hand. “If you want me to stop, then that’s all you needed to say, sweetheart. You should know that I wasn’t trying to seduce him away from you, though. I had something _far_ more interesting in mind.”

Hawke frowned, some of her aggressive mood dying away, leaving room for confusion to surface. “Dare I ask?”

“From where I stand, this is simple. I know you’re good in bed, I’m obviously _excellent_ in bed, and he’s…” She prompted for Hawke to continue.

Hawke sighed. “He’s very good, if you must know.”

“Called it. So all’s good on that front, yes? After that, we have: you and he like each other, you and I like each other, and I like him. The way I see it, we’re only one small step away from something really fun.”

Hawke blinked, trying to follow. “Wait, you’re not suggesting…”

Isabela raised an eyebrow. “Hawke, give me one good reason why I _wouldn’t_ suggest this.”

A waitress stopped by their table, topping off Isabela’s drink and leaving a new glass for Hawke. Hawke took advantage of the momentary distraction to gather her thoughts, taking a long, deep drink of the Hanged Man’s cheap ale.

“The three of us,” Hawke said slowly. “All three of us, _together._ Are you thinking… a one-night sort of thing?”

“If that’s all you’re up for,” Isabela said with a shrug. “But if it’s good fun, I don’t see why we’d need to stop at just one night.”

Hawke leaned back, taking another long drink. “He’d have to agree to this. If we were going to make something like that work, we’d have to bring Fenris on board.”

Isabela grinned over the edge of her mug. “Why do you think I’ve been flirting with him, sweetheart? If you get in on him too, how could he possibly resist us both?”

Cracking a smile, Hawke raised her cup. “I’ll toast to that, then. Count me in.”


	7. Pushing Her Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early-to-mid Act 3. Hawke is now Champion and beat the Arishok in single combat. Hawke has just completed "On The Loose" and has gone back to Meredith to turn the quest in after hunting down the three mages. She has also received the letter to begin "Favor and Fault" from Cullen, but hasn't followed up on that quest yet.

There was nothing quite like freely walking out of the Knight-Commander’s office after telling her off to make a known apostate feel invincible.

Oh, sure she felt bad that the Circle mages had been confined to quarters, but she felt so much _better_ knowing that she wasn’t one of them. Sure, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about her newfound celebrity status as the Champion, but if it came with perks like being a mage able to tell Meredith Stannard she was being a moron after doing her favors, Hawke was willing to take it. Three escaped blood mages handled, and Hawke was apparently in the good graces of the templars, whatever her sharp tongue might do.

“Do you think it wise to antagonize the Knight-Commander so, Hawke?” Fenris spoke up behind her as they walked through the corridors of Templar Hall.

“It’s not like she can do anything about it,” Hawke said with a smug grin. “The people wouldn’t stand to see their Champion locked up in the Circle. There’d be riots. And Meredith’s all about keeping things in order. She’d never do it.”

Anders sighed behind her as they stepped out into the Gallows courtyard. “Must you insist on dragging me in there with you when you pick fights with her? Just because you have a death wish, doesn’t mean I care to join you.”

“Scared of mean, old Meredith, Anders?”

Anders gave her a very flat look. “A possessed apostate mage, scared of the Knight-Commander of the Templars? No I can’t _imagine_ why she and I might not get along. Not all of us have the protection of being the Champion, Hawke.”

Hawke shrugged. “Here I thought you would _enjoy_ seeing me stick up for the mages, for once. Aren’t you always pestering me to do that?”

“Somehow I doubt the plight of the mages was your intention in bothering the Knight-Commander,” Anders grumbled.

“Eh, true,” Hawke said, trying not to laugh. “I won’t lie and say watching Meredith turn the color of her robes wasn’t a good portion of my motivation.” She caught sight of another armored and robed figure standing by the stairs in the yard. “Speaking of which…”

Her companions followed her line of sight. Fenris shook his head. “Hawke, is this really a good idea?”

“I can say right now that it’s not,” Anders said harshly. “Andraste’s sake, Hawke, let’s just leave. Haven’t you done enough here already?”

Hawke rolled her eyes, striding toward her target, undeterred. “Oh, calm down. I just want to have a chat with the man. A friendly chat.”

“I’d like to get a lot more friendly with him than just chatting,” Isabela said with a grin. “Templars are so… uptight. He seems like he could use some help relaxing, no?”

Hawke snorted, even as she plastered a smug smile on her face. “Knight-Captain,” she called. “Do you have a moment?”

Cullen’s expression darkened as he caught sight of her and she had the distinct impression that he was steeling himself for an unpleasant experience. “Serah Hawke.”

“I took care of those escaped mages for you,” she said, stopping in front of him. “Just in case you were worried. The problem’s been handled.”

“The Order thanks you for your assistance,” he said, somewhat guardedly. He was trying to figure out what her angle was, why it was that she’d come over to talk with him. “I trust they didn’t give you too much trouble.”

“Oh, well, you know,” Hawke said casually. “One of them murdered his wife in front of me and used her blood to summon a horde of shades, another abominated after she found out her friends had talked to me, and the last one was drunk in a tavern telling people he was a blood mage to try to get women. I killed the first two, dragged the last one back here. Meredith probably threw him in solitary for a while. Though from what I’ve heard, solitary confinement isn’t much worse than what you’re making the rest of the mages do, is it?”

Cullen pursed his lips at her flippant tone, and she actually managed to elicit a frown at her lack of title for Meredith. By the time she finished with a dig at their methods, his expression was amusingly dark. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, then.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like it was difficult. Makes me wonder though, I thought tracking down apostates was _your_ job, Knight-Captain. I seem to remember a letter from you about taking over Aveline’s job if she was losing her touch. I’m just wondering how you think you can handle being Guard-Captain, when you can’t even manage the Knight-Captain’s duties without my help.”

Isabela let out a long whistle, and Hawke swore she could feel Anders glaring daggers into her back. For someone who hated templars, he certainly wasn’t a fan of her pissing them off. At least not while he was around. Perhaps that had more to do with the fact that she was doing so ‘for the hell of it’ instead of actually trying to help people, than anything else.

Cullen, to his credit, was the image of decorum, though she was sure he wanted to strangle her. She was used to that from people, though. “The Order often enlists outside help when resources are stretched thin, Serah. You’ve shown yourself to be… competent, if nothing else. As I stated in my letter to you, I would much prefer Guard-Captain Aveline keep her position, but I was ordered to investigate whether or not she was still suitable. Have you spoken with her about this issue yet?”

Hawke waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll get around to it eventually. I’m just saying, you ought to keep your mages on a tighter leash from here on out. I might not be here to bail you out next time.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “One might think that you, of all people, Serah Hawke, would have the least reason to complain about any looseness in Chantry leashes.”

“I’ll complain as much as I damn well please so long as _your_ stupid Circle policies are making problems that _I_ have to clean up.” She met his eyes, holding her ground. “As for ‘me, of all people,’ I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

His eyes widened at the shameless lie, glance flicking to her staff. “Really?”

She reached back to tap her fingers against the weapon, watching him tense as she did so. “What? My walking stick? They’re really _quite_ useful, Knight-Captain. You should think about getting one yourself. Those long climbs up to Hightown are just agonizing without one.”

Hawke could swear she heard Anders whisper “Maker’s _breath_ , Hawke,” behind her. Somehow Anders didn’t seem to have figured out that the fact that she could annoy both him and Cullen at the same time only made this whole thing more entertaining for her. She was well aware that becoming the untouchable Champion of Kirkwall had made her insufferable and she was having a _wonderful_ time with it.

Cullen took a deep breath, then let it out again before he managed to compose a response. “I’m certain we will keep a stricter hold on the mages in the future, Serah.”

“Either the mages or Meredith,” Hawke said. “It’s your job as her second to keep her in line, isn’t it? I’m just saying, if there’s anyone around here who’s getting out of hand, it’s your dear Knight-Commander. If you ever get the inclination to stop her before she completely loses it, I might bring myself to be mildly appreciative.”

“The Knight-Commander--”

“--needs someone to smack some sense into her,” Hawke finished for him. “And oddly enough, she doesn’t seem to want to listen to the advice of someone like me.”

“I cannot imagine why that might be,” Cullen said flatly. “Was there anything _of import_ that you wished to speak with me about, Serah, or was this visit simply to critique the way I do my job?”

“Just a friendly chat from a concerned Champion, Captain.” Hawke chuckled. “I suppose I’d best let you get back to… whatever it is that you do while standing out here. I’ll talk to Aveline about these ‘complaints’ you received. If you misplace any more mages and can’t be bothered to track them down yourself, feel free to shout my direction. I’d be more than thrilled to pick up your slack again.”

Cullen gave her a very long, very flat look. “Good day, Serah Hawke.”

She turned and walked away, tempted to look back and see if he was swearing under his breath, but not willing to ruin the image of her exit. Once they were out of earshot, Isabela broke out laughing.

“Don’t laugh,” Anders said bitterly. “You’ll only encourage her. Maker preserve me, Hawke, but I’d almost think you _want_ to get us all arrested.”

“If I wanted us to get arrested, I’d bring Merrill. ‘Hello Cullen, have I introduced you to my Dalish blood mage companion? She’s been asking about talking to demons for information, isn’t that kind of like the Harrowing?’”

Anders shook his head, looking up to the sky as if he would find someone to help him there.

“Far be it from me to agree with the abomination,” Fenris said, “but that did seem rather reckless, Hawke. The templars have been generous in letting you walk free. Is it necessary to flaunt that fact before them?”

“Necessary?” she asked. “No. Fun? Absolutely.”

Isabela laughed again. “I agree, Hawke. I thought he was going to smite you when you said ‘walking stick.’ He was _livid_.” She slipped between Fenris and Anders, slinging an arm across each of the two’s shoulders. “Don’t feel too put out, boys. Now we know for sure that if either of you are feeling skittish, Hawke’s got enough balls for the both of you.”

Hawke shook her head, but she was smiling. “Gross.”

Anders ducked out from under Isabela none too gently, making a disgusted sound. Fenris merely lifted her arm and stepped free, stoic as always. Isabela rolled her eyes at the two, then stepped up and nudged Hawke in the ribs. “Next time you want to poke the hornets’ nest, count me in to tag along.”

“And me _out,_ ” Anders snapped.

Fenris simply sighed.


	8. Unavoidable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act 3's final quest has begun. Anders has just blown up the Chantry, and now Meredith and Orsino are looking to Hawke to pick a side. The dialogue here is the canon dialogue for this conversation, only slightly edited.

“I don’t want to get involved in this!” Hawke snapped.

“You are already involved!" Meredith said, eyes alight. "You are the Champion of Kirkwall. Do your duty or fall with these mages! It is your choice.”

Hawke gritted her teeth at Meredith’s words. Somehow she’d always known it was going to come down to this choice. She’d done everything she could to stay out this stupid issue for as long as possible, but she’d known deep down that her avoidance was only a temporary patch. The decision was bound to find her eventually. Becoming the Champion had only turned the likely into the inevitable.

Mages or templars. Who would she help? The whole city seemed to be pulling her one direction or another. Why her? Why did everyone think _she_ was the person qualified to make this decision once and for all? She’d beaten the Arishok and therefore she was now the expert on complicated issues of morality, safety, and personal freedom? So what, she was good at lighting angry Qunari leaders on fire. That made her some kind of good source of advice? It was ridiculous. She was the last person in Kirkwall anyone should be listening to.

She _didn’t_ want to get involved in this issue and she certainly didn’t want the responsibility of solving it. If she had things her way, she’d jump on the nearest ship with her companions in tow and leave this awful city to burn itself down if it so chose. But she was their Champion now, and Kirkwall’s Knight-Commander and First Enchanter were looking to her to step in and do something. There was no more running away now, no more playing this hands-off. The moment had come, and she had to choose.

She looked between Orsino and Meredith, thoughts racing, possibilities vying for prominence in her mind. All along she’d believed that if it came down to it, she’d throw her lot in with the mages. It made sense, didn’t it? She was a mage, like them. She should be their ally. She lived as an apostate because she believed the Circle was terrible, and despite the fact that she often thought Anders was an idiot for devoting himself to his cause, the points he made were good ones.

Meredith’s overbearing restrictions had only made Kirkwall’s more unruly and desperate, and Hawke had seen firsthand the abuses the woman’s templars committed against their charges. She hated templars, she’d _always_ hated templars. Even if they weren’t all completely awful, the good ones were spineless and didn’t do anything to stop things. She got the sense that Knight-Captain Cullen wasn’t fully on board with the choices Meredith made, but he was too busy serving as her lapdog to change things.

First Enchanter Orsino on the other hand, had been trying to calm issues down as much as possible. He was seeing the fate of his Circle come down to rest on the actions of an apostate he barely even knew. Anders wasn’t one of the Circle mages, but here Meredith was calling for Orsino's Circle to bear the punishment for it. That wasn’t fair to them, and Hawke knew it.

The choice should be obvious. She was a mage, shouldn’t she should stand with her own kind? She ought to pull her staff free and take her place beside Orsino, finally unleash every bit of power she could at the templars she’d always despised.

So, why did she feel exactly the opposite?

Meredith, for all her flaws, was a woman of strength and conviction. She had the backing of a powerful order and the justification of the law on her side. She knew her beliefs and she was willing to do whatever she deemed necessary to accomplish her goals. One could fault her for lack of empathy in regards to her charges, but blood magic and abominations were serious issues, and it was understandable that she might be overreacting.

Orsino was the weaker party in these negotiations. He and the mages were desperate, backed up against the wall and trapped by the restrictions the templars had increasingly placed upon them. They were seeing everything fall apart around them and were on the verge breaking. He’d done everything he could to avoid reaching this point, but he’d failed to stop the conflict, and his last hope was that Hawke would stand beside them and help save what lives she could in the Circle.

Meredith stood her ground and demanded that Hawke do her duty to the city. Orsino was nearly on his knees, begging Hawke for her aid. Hawke couldn’t deny she felt herself drawn to the stronger force of the two. She’d never had any doubt she was selfish, and how many mages got the chance to exempt themselves from the templars’ laws? All she had to do was walk to Meredith’s side. The Knight-Commander had the upper hand, and as Hawke was seeing the way this would play out, she wanted to be on the winning side. It wasn’t Orsino’s fault it had come to this, and Hawke knew that, but she’d never had much of an ear for a sob story. Sympathy was not her strong trait, and she wasn’t going to shackle herself to a sinking ship just because she felt bad for them.

Perhaps, when it came down to it, she could blame her own personal experiences. The Circle was bad, but she wasn’t a Circle mage. She hadn’t had to deal with the abuses that the templars were inflicting. What she _had_ been forced to deal with these past six years was seemingly unending hordes of blood mages, abominations, demons, and necromancers. It seemed like any apostate she ran into or runaway Circle mage she was sent to track down took the knife to their skin or ended up as a twisted monster the moment a confrontation turned to a fight. Maybe there were logical reasons why the mages in Kirkwall kept succumbing to those bad influences, but she really didn’t care anymore. She was just _sick_ of it.

Hawke looked between the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter one more time, but her decision was made. Locking eyes with Meredith, she nodded. “I guess you’ve got yourself a Champion.”


	9. Just Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short fight after Hawke's decision to side with the templars, and now she has to deal with Anders. A note on canonicity: This fic has, thus far, attempted to stick to canon dialogue in major events as much as possible. For instance, Meredith’s lines at the beginning here are her canon lines. However, this conversation with Anders will not follow the in-canon dialogue. It IS possible to make Anders side with the templars, so long as he is at 100% Rivalry (which this Hawke and Anders were) but I imagine this Hawke’s arguments were somewhat different than the reasoning the game gave. There are a few canon lines sprinkled throughout, but this conversation has been mostly rewritten.

The first fight was over quickly, but it was only a harbinger of the long struggle that lay ahead. Meredith, spattered in blood, turned to Hawke as the last mage went down. “So, it begins. I must gather my forces at the Gallows. Meet me there as soon as you can, Champion.” Her gaze slid to Anders, sitting off to the side on a worn wooden box. “I’ll leave this… _murderer_ for you to deal with. He’s your companion. Do as you see fit.”

Hawke had thought that she might feel some sort of vindication after all of this. She’d known from the start that Anders’ cause was only going to lead to trouble, and lo and behold, here they were standing before the smoldering remains of the Chantry and on the other side of an agreement to kill every mage in Kirkwall. Some small measure of satisfied superiority in this situation would not go amiss, Hawke thought. That nice little ‘I-told-you-so’ feeling would be a nice little upside if she could find it.

She couldn’t. Staring at the defeated Anders, back turned to her, Hawke couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but exhausted. She just wanted to be done with this. With a resigned sigh, she crossed the space between them, walking up behind him.

He didn't turn as she approached, just kept staring straight ahead. “There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already said to myself.”

“You’re an idiot.” Hawke said flatly. “I believe I _specifically_ said I didn’t want you dragging me into this, yet here we are.”

Anders shook his head slightly, voice sounding hollow as he spoke. “You don’t even care, do you? You don’t care about what I’ve done or the people involved in this. You’re upset that I _inconvenienced_ you.”

She didn’t know how to deal with this empty, defeatist Anders. He was too vulnerable, too raw. He’d laid everything in this scheme of his and now he sat before her without any defenses, and she didn’t know what to do. It made her uncomfortable, just like when he'd lowered his defenses that night they’d been together. The dynamic was off and she didn’t know how to play anything other than their normal roles. She and Anders _fought_ , they argued, they spat fire and vitriol at one another. She couldn’t do that with him like this. She’d break him if he kept this up, and she was entirely through with things getting broken today.

“You may think very little of me, Anders” Hawke said, “but I hardly think you’re in position lecture me on morality right now. You know, I find myself wondering if this isn’t somehow my fault. Everything in this damn city is, isn’t it? Maybe we wouldn’t be standing here right now if I hadn’t turned you out that night. Maybe if I’d never invited you into the estate at all, we’d all be sitting around the Hanged Man right now, kicking back while nothing was wrong. Is this whole little scheme of yours just the throes of a jilted ex-lover?”

“Truly,” Anders snarled, turning on her with outrage written across his face, “your narcissism knows no bounds, Hawke! This isn’t about you, it was _never_ about you!”

The rise that her words got out of him, was of course, part of why she’d said them. She was glad to see there was still some fight left in him. She needed that fight. She was planning on using it. She’d wondered if Justice would make a grand appearance at the site of his final plan, but the glow of possession did not rise to Anders’ features.

“This has always been coming,” he continued, voice rising to a shout. “Everything the Circle chooses to be has pushed us to this moment! Kirkwall was simply the place where it all finally broke loose!”

“What broke loose here, Anders, is hell! And the fault of it rests entirely on your head! Meredith’s right: even if she wanted to stop the Rite of Annulment, you’ve forced her hand. Not that I think she _does,_ but that’s besides the point! What you’ve done here today is going to lead to the deaths of every mage in Kirkwall. And that’s _if_ we’re lucky and this doesn’t spread beyond here. Their blood is on _your_ hands.”

Anders turned away from her again, his posture going stiff. This time, he was not slumped forward and defeated, or filled with righteous fire. He was steeled, ready for an end. “I know it is. I accept responsibility. Kill me if you must, Hawke, I stand behind what I’ve done. This was necessary.”

“No. I’m not killing you, Anders. You’re not getting out of this that easily.” Her voice was hard as she said the words. If he was steel, she was rock. “You _really_ think this was necessary? Prove it. Stand up, pick your staff up off the ground, and come with me to the Gallows.”

“What?” The confusion was plain in his voice. This hadn’t at all been what he was expecting.

“Did that explosion blow out your hearing?”

He shook his head. “Fight _with_ the templars. Against the Circle. _Why_?”

Hawke pointed up at the smoldering remains on the hill. “You knew what would happen when you did this. You _knew_ that you were sentencing every mage here to die. The Rite of Annulment is _your fault._ Now, if I don't want to share their fate, you’ve forced me to have to help carry that out. You really think I'd let you turn me and the templars into your murder weapons and then give you the easy way out so you don't have to get your hands dirty?"

"I don't claim to be innocent of any of this, Hawke! I have blood on my hands!"

"Good," she said savagely, picking his staff up off the ground and thrusting it toward him. "You're going to have a lot more. I’ve got a feeling all of us will be ankle deep in it by the time we’ve sorted through this mess. Don't you think you owe it to those mages, deep down? If you've decided that they're a necessary cost in your quest to destroy the chance of compromise, you need to be the one to do it. If you think this sacrifice has to be made, if blood truly must be spilled, have the decency to pick up the knife, look them in the eyes, and give them a good death."

Slowly, Anders took hold of the staff, his confusion ebbing into simple disbelief. She didn’t let go of the end she was holding yet; the conversation wasn’t over until she said it was. He understood, logically, what she was saying, but he couldn't wrap his mind around it. "You're really not going to kill me?"

"It's not that you haven't given me ample reason, but if you're looking for penance, doing this is going to cost you a lot more than your life would, Anders. If I know anything about you from these last six years, I know that. You said you’re willing to die for this, but the Circle mages aren't. You made that decision _for_ them, and the way I see it, you’ve got a debt to them now. I’m not going to let you die until it’s paid. What you do with your life after that is up to you.”

"Perhaps you're right," he said. "Perhaps this is the best way to atone for what I've done."

"If we're being honest--"

"You always seem to be, Hawke."

"--I don't give a damn about your atonement or guilt or punishment. I don't even care that much about the Chantry. I really just need a healer at my back. I don't feel like getting into a long dragged-out fight without some backup, alright?"

It wasn't true. It was a defensive quip to hide behind her customary bluntness. She'd meant most of what she'd said to him early in this conversation about what he'd done, but there wasn't much chance that she'd admit that. If there was one thing Hawke knew deep down, it was that she was probably not as bad of a person as she pretended to be.

But, well, she'd been acting like a selfish jerk for her entire life. By this point she had a reputation to maintain, if nothing else.

She shoved her end of the staff at him with more force than necessary, feeling rather like she was throwing away something distasteful. He’d already been holding the other end, so there was no worry that he wouldn't catch it at least. Still, the harshness of the motion seemed to startle him out of the last of his confusion.

"Get up," she said, pulling her own staff free of its sheath. "We've got a Circle to annul."


	10. Stand Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act 3, on the other side of the final boss fights, just after the end of the fight with Meredith. The scene that happens here is canon, if you side with the templars, however, the dialogue within and after it is not.

There weren't many things that Hawke hated more than being wrong. However, standing in the courtyard of the Gallows, blood-soaked down to her very soul it felt, she was starting to think that it was times like this that being right might actually be worse.

She'd said  _from the beginning_  that she didn't want to pick sides in this fight. She'd said that both sides were awful. She hated templars. She hated blood mages. And when it came down to it, what was her choice between? A templar and a blood mage. She didn't know if Orsino's claim that he'd never used blood magic before the end was true, and she didn't care. Even once was enough to abominate someone and he'd needed to be put down. Of course, it should have stopped there, but Meredith was too busy being the picture perfect example of a lyrium-crazed, paranoid templar to let things end the easy way.

In the end, there had been no right answer, just as she'd always known. The amount of cosmic 'I told you so' this situation was entitling her to did not feel nearly as satisfying as it should have. She really wanted to take a kind of vindictive pleasure, standing there as an apostate, watching the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall's templars scream as she was consumed by the lyrium she'd carried. Consumed by lyrium, how fitting. A more dramatic version of the deserved end all templars brought themselves to, in Hawke's opinion.

She didn't really feel vindictively pleased as what was left of Meredith crystallized in the courtyard. She mostly just felt tired. That tiredness was just going to have to wait, though. She had one more issue to deal with before this was going to be over, one more problem to see to. She'd felt it as a little spark of anger earlier and she kept the flames burning yet, ready to stoke them outward into spells even still.

Fenris, Isabela, and Anders fell into formation around her in the wake of the fight. They were four points of a diamond, the group of them moving with the synchronization of fighters used to doing battle together. They'd be ready if this turned to a fight again, and Hawke was increasingly certain it would.

She was of half a mind to provoke that fight herself.

"On your guard," Hawke said, just loud enough for the three of them to hear. "We're not done yet."

"The woman's a statue, Hawke," Isabela said. "Surely you can't think she's still alive after that?"

"Meredith's not who I'm worried about."

As if summoned by Hawke's apprehension, the sound of armored boots came from all sides as the templars who had fled from Meredith's attack came back to see the aftermath of the battle. However, their movements were not those of scattered, scared individuals hesitantly wanting to find out what had happened. Much as Hawke had expected, these templars were trained soldiers, and they moved together in formation, swords drawn as they surrounded her and her companions.

Hawke and her three companions fell back into battle stances, facing outward. Yes, she was  _really_ starting to hate being right, today.

Cullen was near the front of their formation, and she could see how the others already deferred to him, looking to him for orders almost unconsciously. In the wake of Meredith's death, he was their leader now, and they were looking to him for the next decision.

Hawke felt those angry little flames deep inside of her flare up at the sight of him.

She'd heard what he'd said, back when Meredith had first started to lose her grip on the situation. The Knight-Commander had called for Hawke's death in her paranoid ravings, and Cullen had said, as clear as daylight: "I thought we intended to arrest the Champion." Yes, he'd finally stood up to his insane commanding officer right after that, but the damage was done.

 _Intended to arrest_. A plan to betray her, to let her fight at their side and win their battle for them, and then take her captive, and it had been laid in place right from the very start of this whole event, it seemed. Orsino had been right in that they'd turn on her eventually. Perhaps she'd been naive to think that a known apostate could stand with templars and walk away afterward. Perhaps deep down, she'd always known they weren't intending to let her go. Whatever this came to, she wasn't planning on going down without a fight first.

Her eyes stayed locked on Cullen as a templar recruit rushed forward, kneeling before what remained of Meredith. The recruit raised a hand, as if to ascertain that the Knight-Commander truly was dead, then turned to Cullen with a questioning look.

And Cullen looked to Hawke.

She met his indecisive eyes with a steely glare. How was it possible that she could feel as though she were cold as ice, and burning with rage at the same time? She'd just fought her way through the entirety of the Circle's mages. She'd beaten the abomination that Orsino had become. She'd taken on an overpowered Meredith strengthened by the corrupt lyrium that was driving her mad. She'd beaten the Arishok in single combat. She was the damn Champion of the horrific city of Kirkwall, and she was  _not_ afraid of anything Cullen had to bring against her.

He should be afraid of  _her._

 _Just try it,_ she thought at him, every inch of her posture bristling in a threat.  _Just_ try  _to arrest me now. I've got flames enough left for you and every single one of your little templars, Cullen. I'd damn well like to see you try to take me in. I'll set this entire courtyard ablaze if you take even make one step toward me. I'll burn the entire Gallows to the ground if that's what it takes. This hellhole's halfway there already, I ought to just cleanse the world of this cursed Circle and call it my favor to Thedas. We annulled the Circle's mages for being irredeemable? Maybe I'm about to discover that Kirkwall's templars are beyond saving too._

_Make your move, Cullen. Let's all find out how this really ends._

Cullen held her gaze, and she saw the decision turning over behind his eyes. Maybe the guilt over his role in this crisis had finally come to a head, or maybe he was questioning the rest of Meredith's decisions finally. Maybe he felt he respected her accomplishments here. Maybe he'd simply looked into Hawke's eyes and feared the rage burning behind them. Whatever his reasons, the decision was made.

He lowered his sword and dropped to one knee, bowing his head before her.

All around her, the remaining templars followed his lead, kneeling and putting down weapons. She savored that little image for a moment, she herself standing tall as the apostate mage, able to glare the templar leader into submission and watching his soldiers bow down before her.  _As it should be._

"Now," she said quietly to her companions, "it's over." She finally lowered her staff, setting the blade against the ground and leaning on it more heavily than her posture would have indicated. Isabela sheathed her knives with a nervous sigh of relief, and Fenris lowered his sword, though his eyes still watched the templars as though worried that one of them might make a move towards Hawke. Anders simply looked empty as he replaced his staff at his back. He'd fought with her as she'd ordered, but his expression had gone hollow from the moment they stepped into the Gallows. She wasn't sure he was ever going to fully return to himself.

She let the templars stay as they were for a few moments, hoping Cullen's armor was pinching him somewhere, before finally turning in a slow circle to address the group as a whole. "Every templar in Kirkwall is hereby under the command of Guard-Captain Aveline. You are to go into the city and help her guardsmen restore order until such time as she gives you the order to stop. Dismissed!"

She didn't ask if she was understood, she didn't show any hesitance. She'd learned that if you wanted people to listen to you, you gave orders like you expected to be obeyed. Cullen was technically their commander now, but he'd taken a knee to her. That was justification enough for her to order them about.

Besides, giving a damn about Cullen's authority was about the farthest thing on her mind at the moment. She wasn't done with him yet. Not in the slightest.


	11. A Farewell Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Directly after the last scene, AKA just after where the game normally cuts to Varric's epilogue. Still in the Gallows courtyard, Act 3.

Cullen was just starting to find his feet again as Hawke marched across the stones to him. "Thank you, Champion. I think what lives we have managed to save through this experience are due to your influence, in large pa-"

He cut off with a choking noise as Hawke snapped her staff blade up under his neck. Yes, she could have threatened him with magic, but honestly, he wasn't worth the mana.

"You've got about four sentences to give me a good reason why I shouldn't shove my staff through the back of your skull, Cullen."

Cullen's eyes were wide, but he maintained his composure. She doubted it was the first time he'd had a blade at his neck. She was hoping it wouldn't be the last either. "Hawke. What are you doing? It's over."

"Is it though?" She said, her tone acidic. "Because see, I seem to remember saying I would stand with the templars and then you saying that the plan was to arrest me all along. I don't know if you've noticed but I don't take very well to lying, backstabbing traitors."

"I supported you," Cullen said stiffly. "I superceded Meredith when you demanded we spare the mages who surrendered. I refused to let her give the order to kill you. I defended you when she attacked, Hawke. I tried to relieve her of command when she was getting out of control."

She flicked the blade up around his face, setting the point of it just underneath his nose this time. "No, if you'd tried to relieve her of command when she was getting out of control, you would have stepped in months ago and none of this would have happened! If you'd done your damn job, we wouldn't be here, and these mages wouldn't be dead! However, your pathetic incompetence is nothing new, Cullen. Let's talk about the real issue at hand. This plan to take me into custody after the battle? You and all the other templars lying to my face as I fought at your side?"

"Hawke, you're an apostate mage-"

"You don't give a damn about the fact that I'm an apostate!" Hawke yelled. "You and Meredith wanted to take me out because I'm a threat to authority as the Champion! Honestly, what the hell were you thinking? I've fought my way through everything this city has tried to throw at me and somehow you would be able to handle taking me in? The worthless excuse of a templar who can't even figure out how to tell Meredith 'no'? Don't make me laugh."

His eyes went crossed for a moment as he focused on the blade hovering under his nose. "You don't seem to be in a very humorous mood, Hawke."

"Don't get short with me, templar," she snapped.

"Why?" he asked flatly. "It isn't nearly as fun for you on the receiving end?"

She shoved the point of her staff closer, forcing him to flinch back. "I've yet to hear a good reason, Cullen. I've got plenty of blood on my hands today, I don't think yours would stain me that much more."

Cullen took a steadying breath. "Arresting you was the only plan that Meredith would agree to."

"She  _asked me_  for my help! I would have been perfectly happy staying out of this!"

"You're the Champion. You could not have stayed out of this fight."

She sneered at him. "Yeah, it didn't really work out so well for Elthina, did it?"

"Hawke," Cullen said, "the Circle needs to rebuild. They'll need a First Enchanter. Either that, or Kirkwall will need a Viscountess."

She nearly ran him through on the spot out of surprise alone. "Wait, me?  _That's_ your big plan in the aftermath of this? You put  _me_ in charge of the Circle or the city? Of all the people in the city, you think  _I_ would make a good First Enchanter?"

"Kirkwall isn't exactly graced with an abundance of mages at the moment-"

"Yes, we took care of that, didn't we? And what a glowing recommendation! I'm the only one you could find!"

"-and," he continued slowly when she'd finished her outburst, "we have far fewer who are competent leaders already respected by the city."

She cocked her head, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You know, telling an apostate mage you're hoping to stick her in the Circle isn't exactly a good way to convince her not to kill you. Last I checked, the First Enchanter has to actually  _be_ a Circle mage. Were you planning on dumping one of your lyrium doses out into a bowl, and forcing me through a Harrowing right here?"

She jerked a thumb back behind her in the direction of the Gallows proper. "I don't think anyone's using the actual Harrowing chamber at the moment. You could shackle me to one of those torture devices you've got set up in there. 'Right this way, Champion Hawke. Don't mind the blood soaking the floor or the abominated corpse of your predecessor Orsino rotting in the middle of the room. You've killed so many demons today already, I'm sure a little one in the Fade won't give you too much trouble.' Flawless plan, Cullen! Maybe I'll appoint the possessed Circle runaway who blew up the Chantry and my Dalish First who dabbles in blood magic during her off-hours as the upper members of my hierarchy!"

Cullen actually managed to look surprised, even after everything that had happened. "Wait, Merrill is a blood mage, and you _knew_?" He started, apparently catching her first phrase belatedly. "Did you say Anders is  _possessed_?"

A sudden flash of flame licking around Hawke's hands shut him up again. "Don't change the subject! I'm not joining your Circle, Cullen. I'm not joining any Circle,  _ever_. Prestigious positions or not, I will die before I let anyone snap a Chantry collar around my throat. I don't want to be First Enchanter, I don't want to be Viscountess, and I sure as hell am  _through_ with being the Champion! The first chance I have to get out of this cesspit of a city, I am taking it. If you ever come after me or any of my companions - yes, Anders and Merrill included - I will personally finish what I've been wanting to do for this whole conversation. And Cullen? If that's the case, I won't make it quick either."

He considered what she said for a long moment. "Fine. As you've said, I'm not really in any position to force you to do anything. I take it that means you've decided not to kill me, Hawke?"

"Maybe," she said, still glaring at him. "If I  _ever_ see you again, I'll make sure to correct that. Since this is goodbye, I suppose I can't let you entirely off the hook. Consider this my parting gift to you, Knight-Captain - oh, sorry - Knight- _Commander_  Cullen. A farewell kiss."

His mouth fell open at the unexpected words, but before he could voice his surprise, Hawke whipped her staff down, letting the blade slice a gash through his upper lip, just left of center. He jerked backward, raising a hand to his face to try to staunch the blood already beginning to flow. She used his shocked pause to give him a cruel smile, sliding her staff into the sheath at her back without cleaning his blood off the blade.

She turned on her heel, calling out to him without looking back. "Hope you can find a healing mage in the city you haven't murdered yet to take care of that for you, Cullen. Cut like that would leave a nasty scar."


End file.
